


Letter To Anonymous

by BeautifulCreature



Series: Reflection Letters [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Childhood Memories, Depression, Gen, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Repressed Memories, Steve Rogers Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, mentions of pre-serum steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulCreature/pseuds/BeautifulCreature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is left damaged after sleeping in ice for seventy years. He is depressed without his best friend and suffers from PTSD that flares randomly. One pastime is reminiscing about his past with his one love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter To Anonymous

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To My Dull Reflection in Rusty Blades (An Open Letter by James Buchanan Barnes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210083) by [OhCaptainMyCaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhCaptainMyCaptain/pseuds/OhCaptainMyCaptain). 



> Hello, everyone. I had the spontaneous idea to write about Steve's experiences after the ice and quickly wrote up this little story. It is a letter from Steve's point of view. The letter discusses PTSD and other emotions that include depression and grief. If you are triggered by such topics, please proceed with caution. For the rest, don't be shy to let me know what you think.

To Anonymous,

The dreams are tinted blue; contrasting the achromatic blur of snow. His name repeats itself in my head over and over again: _James Buchanan Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes, James Buch—._ I desperately attempt to grasp his hand before he falls, but there isn’t enough time. Each dream has a different beginning—meeting each other for drinks, walking to the docks together, or squeezing onto the same couch during winter—though they all end the same: the loss of a lifetime within minutes.

Reporters always ask the same question: _Did you nosedive the jet into the ice because you were upset about your loss?_ There is no simple answer to that specific question. I suppose there were multiple reasons I did so. Any hero would risk their life to save the innocent. I did what was necessary to protect millions. Did I want to survive the crash and awake to a world without him? No, but this wasn’t the main reason I slept in ice for seventy years.

Some days are worse than others. At times I wish I hadn’t decided to be injected with the serum. There have been many positive outcomes from the serum—improved immune system, superhuman strength, and fewer injuries—but nothing can return the loss of my best friend. Although he was involved in the war he didn’t become prey until I volunteered to fight Hydra. Bucky could’ve lived a full life if I didn’t become involved. I regret this decision often.

Protecting the innocent is the only thing that makes me feel useful. Without this I wouldn’t be able to leave bed in the morning. The thoughts return when I least expect them; flashes of the war and his demise. Sometimes his screams echo throughout my head, demanding attention. There are few things that distract me from these thoughts.

Each week my team sets aside time to watch movies and relax. I’d rather spend my time in the city, but I appreciate the bonding session. The team has become a second family, though nothing will compare to what I experienced with Bucky. They rarely mention him or ask me about my time in war. I’m not sure if they’re afraid I will react negatively or they aren’t interested in the subject.

Despite these occasional distractions, I grieve daily. Nightmares bleed into my mind during the nights I manage to sleep, paralyzing me with fear. During the day I busy myself with missions or training. On particularly bad days, I don’t sleep. Instead I work myself to exhaustion, praying this will prevent the nightmares. The success of this pattern is low but there is nothing else to do.

To be honest, I miss him every day. From the time we met at thirteen he was beautiful. It was rare when he wasn’t radiating happiness. The Depression caused people to lose hope. Families were forced to starve and didn’t know when the economy would rise again. Bucky brought hope to those who had nothing left. He was the person everyone aspired to be.

It was unacceptable to be attracted to the same sex during the 1940s. I never had a chance to tell him I loved him. If I did tell him, there’s a chance he would’ve rejected me. Bucky never spoke about his thoughts on same sex relationships or society in general. There wasn’t a reason to speak about politics then. The focus of the decade was surviving through harsh winters without much money. I still wonder if he felt the same about me.

I’m aware it’s odd, but I frequently have the thought that he survived the fall. After attacking Hydra we searched for his body but never found it. There was a massive blood stain in the snow, but nothing to confirm his death besides the fall. I… I suppose his body was torn to shreds from the fall. It’s a possibility that I don’t want to revisit.

He was with me through everything. The death of my mother was a surprise that left me heartbroken for years. Bucky refused to leave my side and offered to cover my shifts at the dock. His behavior made me feel like a child, but I enjoyed the company he brought.

Before the serum my immune system was terrible. I had chronic colds, asthma, and horrific allergies. Bucky stayed with me through it all and overworked himself to have enough money for medicine. I remember yelling at him when he would get sick from stress. He was only trying to protect me in the end.

I miss my best friend and I would do anything to have him back in my arms. I’m not living, I’m simply surviving. There’s no hope that this will become easier, but I need to survive for him. He would want me to celebrate his life. This will have to do for now.

From,

Steve Rogers   


End file.
